"I feel a lot of pressure, whether that be good or bad, to excel in life because they made a lot of sacrifices for me to live the life that I have now."
Amy is the daughter of two Chinese immigrants—her mother from Zhengzhou in central China, and her father from Fuzhou, a coastal city near Taiwan. The two met in the 1990s after coming to the University of Nebraska at Omaha on full-ride scholarships for graduate school. They had no financial cushion and spoke almost no English, but they were determined to make it work.
Her mother’s childhood was marked by hardship and ingenuity. Amy remembers hearing a story about a school uniform that had to last her mom from first grade through graduation: “It was an XXL on a tiny girl,” Amy said. “Her mom stitched it tighter when she was young, and then let it out every year until it finally fit.” Food, too, was scarce. Once, her aunt—desperate with hunger—ate a raw piece of meat the family had been saving. “Stories like that stuck with me,” Amy reflected. “It just showed how hard things were.”
Her father’s path was different, but no less difficult. His mother, a devout Buddhist, had consulted her temple before allowing him to leave. The monks told her he would find success in America, and so she let him go—with faith, and eventually with her own labor. She immigrated alongside him and worked as a house cleaner for years, never speaking the language but doing what she could to help him stay afloat.
In Nebraska, Amy’s parents found a small Chinese community but few cultural comforts. “Asian grocery stores were few and far between,” Amy said. “They really missed the food they grew up with.” Their new home also came with the sting of racism and microaggressions that Amy would come to recognize herself as a child.
She lived in Nebraska until the age of twelve. In a predominantly white town, Amy was one of just two Asian kids in her grade. “The food I brought from home was always a topic,” she said. “Even if it was just rice and meat, people would say it smelled weird.” Eventually, she started asking her mom to let her buy school lunch instead. “I was just tired of feeling different.”
It wasn’t just food. Comments about her appearance—her nose, her eyes—became part of her daily life. “Your nose is so flat. Your eyes are so small.” She heard those phrases often, delivered casually by classmates. “I didn’t know how to respond,” she admitted. “I think I just absorbed it.”
Despite those challenges, Amy credits her parents with instilling cultural pride. “I never really felt ashamed of being Chinese,” she said. “Even when people made comments, I still knew where I came from.” She remembers noticing how another Asian student in her school went out of his way to hide his background. “He only ate McDonald’s and never touched homemade food. Seeing that made me feel more grounded in who I was.”
There were moments of joy, too—especially in their backyard. Typical of a Nebraska home, the yard was sprawling and green. Her parents loved to garden. “We had all kinds of vegetables,” Amy remembered. “We’d be out there pulling weeds, planting things, just running around barefoot. It was peaceful.” When her grandparents visited from China, her grandmother would walk her to school—an ordinary act that felt special in the quiet landscape of her childhood.
Today, Amy carries her parents’ story with her. She often feels the pressure of being an only child raised by people who sacrificed everything. “They gave up so much, so of course I feel like I have to make the most of it.” Choosing a creative path wasn’t easy in a family that valued practicality and financial stability. “It took them a while to come around,” she said, “but now they’re proud of me.”
Her parents’ dream was never extravagant. “It was always just to have a nice backyard where they could grow their own vegetables,” Amy said. “And now they’re doing that. Seeing them finally get to enjoy that part of life—it makes me so proud.”
Looking back, working on this project has been emotional. Hearing others’ stories made her reexamine her own. “It made me more grateful,” she said. “You start to appreciate the little things more. And when you’re grateful, you just… feel more grounded. It makes you want to keep going.”
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Holding space for the stories that built us and the voices that move us forward.
The struggle that it took my parents to come here and become successful in a foreign place is something that is always on my mind.
Join the story
Holding space for the stories that built us and the voices that move us forward.
"I feel a lot of pressure, whether that be good or bad, to excel in life because they made a lot of sacrifices for me to live the life that I have now."
Amy is the daughter of two Chinese immigrants—her mother from Zhengzhou in central China, and her father from Fuzhou, a coastal city near Taiwan. The two met in the 1990s after coming to the University of Nebraska at Omaha on full-ride scholarships for graduate school. They had no financial cushion and spoke almost no English, but they were determined to make it work.
Her mother’s childhood was marked by hardship and ingenuity. Amy remembers hearing a story about a school uniform that had to last her mom from first grade through graduation: “It was an XXL on a tiny girl,” Amy said. “Her mom stitched it tighter when she was young, and then let it out every year until it finally fit.” Food, too, was scarce. Once, her aunt—desperate with hunger—ate a raw piece of meat the family had been saving. “Stories like that stuck with me,” Amy reflected. “It just showed how hard things were.”
Her father’s path was different, but no less difficult. His mother, a devout Buddhist, had consulted her temple before allowing him to leave. The monks told her he would find success in America, and so she let him go—with faith, and eventually with her own labor. She immigrated alongside him and worked as a house cleaner for years, never speaking the language but doing what she could to help him stay afloat.
In Nebraska, Amy’s parents found a small Chinese community but few cultural comforts. “Asian grocery stores were few and far between,” Amy said. “They really missed the food they grew up with.” Their new home also came with the sting of racism and microaggressions that Amy would come to recognize herself as a child.
She lived in Nebraska until the age of twelve. In a predominantly white town, Amy was one of just two Asian kids in her grade. “The food I brought from home was always a topic,” she said. “Even if it was just rice and meat, people would say it smelled weird.” Eventually, she started asking her mom to let her buy school lunch instead. “I was just tired of feeling different.”
It wasn’t just food. Comments about her appearance—her nose, her eyes—became part of her daily life. “Your nose is so flat. Your eyes are so small.” She heard those phrases often, delivered casually by classmates. “I didn’t know how to respond,” she admitted. “I think I just absorbed it.”
Despite those challenges, Amy credits her parents with instilling cultural pride. “I never really felt ashamed of being Chinese,” she said. “Even when people made comments, I still knew where I came from.” She remembers noticing how another Asian student in her school went out of his way to hide his background. “He only ate McDonald’s and never touched homemade food. Seeing that made me feel more grounded in who I was.”
There were moments of joy, too—especially in their backyard. Typical of a Nebraska home, the yard was sprawling and green. Her parents loved to garden. “We had all kinds of vegetables,” Amy remembered. “We’d be out there pulling weeds, planting things, just running around barefoot. It was peaceful.” When her grandparents visited from China, her grandmother would walk her to school—an ordinary act that felt special in the quiet landscape of her childhood.
Today, Amy carries her parents’ story with her. She often feels the pressure of being an only child raised by people who sacrificed everything. “They gave up so much, so of course I feel like I have to make the most of it.” Choosing a creative path wasn’t easy in a family that valued practicality and financial stability. “It took them a while to come around,” she said, “but now they’re proud of me.”
Her parents’ dream was never extravagant. “It was always just to have a nice backyard where they could grow their own vegetables,” Amy said. “And now they’re doing that. Seeing them finally get to enjoy that part of life—it makes me so proud.”
Looking back, working on this project has been emotional. Hearing others’ stories made her reexamine her own. “It made me more grateful,” she said. “You start to appreciate the little things more. And when you’re grateful, you just… feel more grounded. It makes you want to keep going.”
Holding space for the stories that built us and the voices that move us forward.
Holding space for the stories that built us and the voices that move us forward.
Holding space for the stories that built us and the voices that move us forward.
Holding space for the stories that built us and the voices that move us forward.
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"I feel a lot of pressure, whether that be good or bad, to excel in life because they made a lot of sacrifices for me to live the life that I have now."
Amy is the daughter of two Chinese immigrants—her mother from Zhengzhou in central China, and her father from Fuzhou, a coastal city near Taiwan. The two met in the 1990s after coming to the University of Nebraska at Omaha on full-ride scholarships for graduate school. They had no financial cushion and spoke almost no English, but they were determined to make it work.
Her mother’s childhood was marked by hardship and ingenuity. Amy remembers hearing a story about a school uniform that had to last her mom from first grade through graduation: “It was an XXL on a tiny girl,” Amy said. “Her mom stitched it tighter when she was young, and then let it out every year until it finally fit.” Food, too, was scarce. Once, her aunt—desperate with hunger—ate a raw piece of meat the family had been saving. “Stories like that stuck with me,” Amy reflected. “It just showed how hard things were.”
Her father’s path was different, but no less difficult. His mother, a devout Buddhist, had consulted her temple before allowing him to leave. The monks told her he would find success in America, and so she let him go—with faith, and eventually with her own labor. She immigrated alongside him and worked as a house cleaner for years, never speaking the language but doing what she could to help him stay afloat.
In Nebraska, Amy’s parents found a small Chinese community but few cultural comforts. “Asian grocery stores were few and far between,” Amy said. “They really missed the food they grew up with.” Their new home also came with the sting of racism and microaggressions that Amy would come to recognize herself as a child.
She lived in Nebraska until the age of twelve. In a predominantly white town, Amy was one of just two Asian kids in her grade. “The food I brought from home was always a topic,” she said. “Even if it was just rice and meat, people would say it smelled weird.” Eventually, she started asking her mom to let her buy school lunch instead. “I was just tired of feeling different.”
It wasn’t just food. Comments about her appearance—her nose, her eyes—became part of her daily life. “Your nose is so flat. Your eyes are so small.” She heard those phrases often, delivered casually by classmates. “I didn’t know how to respond,” she admitted. “I think I just absorbed it.”
Despite those challenges, Amy credits her parents with instilling cultural pride. “I never really felt ashamed of being Chinese,” she said. “Even when people made comments, I still knew where I came from.” She remembers noticing how another Asian student in her school went out of his way to hide his background. “He only ate McDonald’s and never touched homemade food. Seeing that made me feel more grounded in who I was.”
There were moments of joy, too—especially in their backyard. Typical of a Nebraska home, the yard was sprawling and green. Her parents loved to garden. “We had all kinds of vegetables,” Amy remembered. “We’d be out there pulling weeds, planting things, just running around barefoot. It was peaceful.” When her grandparents visited from China, her grandmother would walk her to school—an ordinary act that felt special in the quiet landscape of her childhood.
Today, Amy carries her parents’ story with her. She often feels the pressure of being an only child raised by people who sacrificed everything. “They gave up so much, so of course I feel like I have to make the most of it.” Choosing a creative path wasn’t easy in a family that valued practicality and financial stability. “It took them a while to come around,” she said, “but now they’re proud of me.”
Her parents’ dream was never extravagant. “It was always just to have a nice backyard where they could grow their own vegetables,” Amy said. “And now they’re doing that. Seeing them finally get to enjoy that part of life—it makes me so proud.”
Looking back, working on this project has been emotional. Hearing others’ stories made her reexamine her own. “It made me more grateful,” she said. “You start to appreciate the little things more. And when you’re grateful, you just… feel more grounded. It makes you want to keep going.”
"I feel a lot of pressure, whether that be good or bad, to excel in life because they made a lot of sacrifices for me to live the life that I have now."
Amy is the daughter of two Chinese immigrants—her mother from Zhengzhou in central China, and her father from Fuzhou, a coastal city near Taiwan. The two met in the 1990s after coming to the University of Nebraska at Omaha on full-ride scholarships for graduate school. They had no financial cushion and spoke almost no English, but they were determined to make it work.
Her mother’s childhood was marked by hardship and ingenuity. Amy remembers hearing a story about a school uniform that had to last her mom from first grade through graduation: “It was an XXL on a tiny girl,” Amy said. “Her mom stitched it tighter when she was young, and then let it out every year until it finally fit.” Food, too, was scarce. Once, her aunt—desperate with hunger—ate a raw piece of meat the family had been saving. “Stories like that stuck with me,” Amy reflected. “It just showed how hard things were.”
Her father’s path was different, but no less difficult. His mother, a devout Buddhist, had consulted her temple before allowing him to leave. The monks told her he would find success in America, and so she let him go—with faith, and eventually with her own labor. She immigrated alongside him and worked as a house cleaner for years, never speaking the language but doing what she could to help him stay afloat.
In Nebraska, Amy’s parents found a small Chinese community but few cultural comforts. “Asian grocery stores were few and far between,” Amy said. “They really missed the food they grew up with.” Their new home also came with the sting of racism and microaggressions that Amy would come to recognize herself as a child.
She lived in Nebraska until the age of twelve. In a predominantly white town, Amy was one of just two Asian kids in her grade. “The food I brought from home was always a topic,” she said. “Even if it was just rice and meat, people would say it smelled weird.” Eventually, she started asking her mom to let her buy school lunch instead. “I was just tired of feeling different.”
It wasn’t just food. Comments about her appearance—her nose, her eyes—became part of her daily life. “Your nose is so flat. Your eyes are so small.” She heard those phrases often, delivered casually by classmates. “I didn’t know how to respond,” she admitted. “I think I just absorbed it.”
Despite those challenges, Amy credits her parents with instilling cultural pride. “I never really felt ashamed of being Chinese,” she said. “Even when people made comments, I still knew where I came from.” She remembers noticing how another Asian student in her school went out of his way to hide his background. “He only ate McDonald’s and never touched homemade food. Seeing that made me feel more grounded in who I was.”
There were moments of joy, too—especially in their backyard. Typical of a Nebraska home, the yard was sprawling and green. Her parents loved to garden. “We had all kinds of vegetables,” Amy remembered. “We’d be out there pulling weeds, planting things, just running around barefoot. It was peaceful.” When her grandparents visited from China, her grandmother would walk her to school—an ordinary act that felt special in the quiet landscape of her childhood.
Today, Amy carries her parents’ story with her. She often feels the pressure of being an only child raised by people who sacrificed everything. “They gave up so much, so of course I feel like I have to make the most of it.” Choosing a creative path wasn’t easy in a family that valued practicality and financial stability. “It took them a while to come around,” she said, “but now they’re proud of me.”
Her parents’ dream was never extravagant. “It was always just to have a nice backyard where they could grow their own vegetables,” Amy said. “And now they’re doing that. Seeing them finally get to enjoy that part of life—it makes me so proud.”
Looking back, working on this project has been emotional. Hearing others’ stories made her reexamine her own. “It made me more grateful,” she said. “You start to appreciate the little things more. And when you’re grateful, you just… feel more grounded. It makes you want to keep going.”